


Oblivion [Calling Out Your Name]

by SinnamonSpider



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Dean Has Abandonment Issues, Dean is a mess, Frottage, Impala Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Mechanophilia, Past Relationship(s), Pining Dean, Sex with the Impala, Sibling Incest, Stanford Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-30 01:24:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12643290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinnamonSpider/pseuds/SinnamonSpider
Summary: Dean was spectacularly drunk. He had good reason, though he never really needed it. But it was two years to the day since Sam walked out on his family.





	Oblivion [Calling Out Your Name]

**Author's Note:**

> Stanford-Era angst mixed with some drunken Impala!sex - who could resist?
> 
> Title from "Oblivion" by Bastille.
> 
> Standard disclaimers apply. Feedback keeps me going.

 

Dean was spectacularly drunk.

He had good reason, though he never really needed it. But it was two years to the day since Sam walked out on his family, and just like last year and the year before, Dean was at the bar. His plan on this horrible anniversary was always the same: get drunk, get in a fight, get more drunk, and get laid.

It was just after closing time, and he'd accomplished three of the four tasks on his list. Not too shabby.

He knew he could still get laid if he wanted, but it was late and rainy and his cheekbone was aching where he'd taken a left hook and his knuckles were split open where he'd cracked them on some idiot's jaw. It was time to call it a night.

He stumbled across the wet parking lot to where his baby sat, glistening and sultry under the streetlights, and fumbled the keys from his jacket pocket, falling gratefully into the cool vinyl embrace of her front seat.

“Struck out, gorgeous,” he mumbled to the Impala. She didn't reply. She usually didn't, but that didn't stop Dean from talking to her.

“S’okay though,’” he murmured reassuringly, sliding his palms over the material of the steering wheel. “No one compares to you, darlin’.”

He was way too drunk to drive and he knew it, but he twisted the key in the ignition and Baby rumbled to life beneath him, vibrations coursing up through his hips, shivering up his spine. Nothing made him feel quite this way. Not even Sam.

He cut that thought off with a vicious shake of his dizzy head. He couldn't think that way, not in the condition he was in. He flexed his hands on the steering wheel instead, focusing on the steady rumble of the only thing in his life that had never left him alone. He pushed his feet into the footwell, on either side of the pedals, pressed himself harder into the seat, to feel her shudder back against him.

“Don't worry, sweetheart,” he cooed, stroking the dash gently. “We won't go anywhere. Wouldn't risk you like that. Jus’ wanted to feel you.”

The car purred under his touch. Dean's hand wandered idly down to his crotch, where he was hard and straining against his zipper.

“S’much for whisky dick,” he muttered, pushing his hips up into his own touch.

He massaged himself through his jeans for a minute or two, before giving in to the inevitable and unbuttoning the pants, pushing up on his toes to give him space to wriggle them down past his ass.

Freed from the fabric barrier, Dean took himself firmly in hand, inhaling sharply at the cool touch of his fingers on the heated flesh of his dick. A pearl of precome hovered at the tip, which he rubbed against the steering wheel, leaving shiny streaks behind. “Feel that, baby?” he panted, breath coming faster already. “Feel how wet I am for you?”

The car shivered under him, almost in reply, and Dean moaned, loud and unrestrained; there was no one to hear him, just metal and chrome and vinyl.

“You want it, sweetheart?” he purred, low and dark, words and tone the same he'd used on a thousand different girls. “Want me to give it to you real good?”

Without waiting for an answer that would never come, Dean slid along the seat, slipping down until he was resting facedown on the smooth vinyl of the seat. He pumped his hips messily against the upholstery, the head of his dick bumping against each ridge in the seat with each thrust.

“Only you, baby,” he muttered into the seat, lips moving across the warm vinyl. “Only you’re never leavin’ me. Everyone else...everyone leaves. Mom. Dad. Sammy.” His voice cracked on the last name and he bit down hard on his lip, until he tasted blood.

Without thinking, he stretched out his hand to the accelerator and pushed down, just a little. Baby roared, all that horsepower throttled by the parking brake rumbling up through the frame, and Dean cried out as the sensation shivered over him. He ground himself harder against the vinyl, warm and supple from his body heat.

He pushed down on the gas again, harder this time, and the car snarled once more, like a caged beast unable to release her full power. “Fuck, fuck,” Dean gasped, voice breaking with need, hips pistoning harder into the upholstery. Sweat dropped from his temple to spatter on the seat.

His fingers dug painfully into the vinyl. It squeaked under his grasp and the sound made him think of the high-pitched gasps that Sam let slip when he was torn to pieces under Dean's touch, wracked with pleasure and beyond caring about the sounds he was making. At the thought, Dean's body jerked helplessly and he came, hard and hot, spilling onto Baby's smooth seat, broken words falling from his lips. “Fuck, Baby, so good for me...just like Sammy, Jesus, both of you, just so good…”

The tears came then, just as hard and hot as the come slicking between his body and the seat. “ _Sammy_ ,” he gasped, lost in a haze of release and regret, love and loss and longing. “Sammy, baby. God.”

The car cradled him, warm in her metal embrace, as he cried himself into unconsciousness.


End file.
